


the perfect season

by bethica



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Explicit Language, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Not Beta Read, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stanlonbrough (hinted), just some good pure high school romance, they got flower tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 09:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18363323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethica/pseuds/bethica
Summary: a reddie soulmate au, where at some point in your teenage years you suddenly get a tattoo of a flower somewhere on your body. when you fall in love with your soulmate, it blooms.[title inspired by troye sivan's bloom, ofc]





	the perfect season

Sometimes Eddie wondered if things would be different, if they didn’t have the flowers. If, in some other world, there was a version of everyone he knew who had to live with uncertainty. He couldn’t really imagine it; never truly knowing if the person you loved was the person you were meant to be with forever. It was just one of the constants of the world, like his mother being worried, or the Losers Club, or Richie pulling up to the Kaspbrak house in his horrible, loud old truck every morning to give Eddie a ride to school. 

 

People were born with their flower tattoos, beginning as small buds but then growing as the wearer did. Tendrils of vines, or long stalks, or small bunches of leaves, stretching across everyone’s bodies, in beautiful shades for every color of the natural world. Most people raced to a plant identification guide, or else the library, as soon as their mark seemed something identifiable. Eddie certainly had, eager to put a name to the long, pale gray branch that stretched along under his clavicles, with gentle pointed green leaves arranged along. 

 

“ _ Wisteria floribunda,”  _ Eddie had wheezed out as soon as he was in earshot of the other Losers. He quickly propped up his bike on the kickstand, pulling down the collar of his worn cotton t-shirt as he approached his slightly confused friends. They were arranged among the rocks of the Barrens, lounging and shooting the breeze when Eddie came crashing through the brush. 

 

“Guys, that’s what it is! My mark! Japanese wisteria! Look, it’s coming in really clearly now!” Eddie tugged at his collar more aggressively, as if trying to draw their attention. Bev seemed to be the first to understand, a slow smile growing on her summer-freckled face as she stood up and came closer.

 

“Eddie! That’s amazing! Let me see!” She peered at the spindling branch, and the rather unremarkable gray buds that had begun to appear along it. “This is gonna be gorgeous when it blooms, Ed, you’re a lucky duck.”

 

Eddie’s face turned almost imperceptibly more red at the compliment, cheeks already flushed from his bike-sprint to tell his friends the news. “I finally was able to identify it, it was so hard to tell for the longest time because it was just a branch, ya know? But, now? There it is! Right there! And that’s what it is,  _ Wisteria floribunda,  _ Japanese wisteria, it’s gonna be all purple and long and, and, yeah,” he finished breathlessly, beaming at his friends. 

 

“Well, well, Eds,” drawled Richie from where he was reclining against a rock. “Japanese wisteria? Someone’s a little exotic now, aren’t they?” Eddie rolled his eyes, coming over to sit between Bill and Mike. “I’m not surprised though, honestly,” Richie continued, peering through his glasses to get a better look. “Of course my Eddiebear would have the cutest, prettiest, most pastel flower known to man.” 

 

Eddie’s grin abruptly turned to a scowl, as he pinched his lips together. “Don’t call me that, Rich.” 

 

“What?” Asked Richie innocently, a shit-eating grin creeping across his face as he scooted closer to Eddie. “Cute? Eds? Eddiebear?” He batted his eyelashes dramatically, flopping onto his stomach to rest his chin in his hands. “Preeeeeettty?”

 

“All of the above!” He released his shirt collar huffily, reluctantly pulling it back down at Ben’s sounds of protest. “And I am not pastel, Richard.” He leaned back comfortably on Bill’s shoulder, catching his breath in the gentle rays of the evening sun. Richie snorted. Mike glared at him, almost imperceptibly. 

 

It was no secret, the bullying that Eddie had endured throughout his school career. He was short, coddled by his mother, asthmatic, and didn’t deny the gay rumors: practically a bully magnet. The one thing he prided himself on, however, was his strength. Eddie Kaspbrak was small and gay, yes, but he was strong, and fast, and quick to stand up for himself and his friends.

 

Mike smiled kindly at Eddie, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Rich doesn’t mean it in a bad way, Ed. I think he’s just saying- well, you’re a really caring person, Eddie. And you’re gentle with the people you’re close with, and you’re-”

 

“CUTE!” Richie exploded, beaming and slightly red from the obvious exertion of having stayed quiet for Mike’s words. “Cute, cute,  _ cute,  _ Eddie!”

 

Mike rolled his eyes, as did the rest of their friends. “Seriously though, Eddie. It’s gonna be beautiful, I can tell. I’m so excited for you to meet him.”

 

Eddie flushed slightly. “Me too, Mikey. Thanks.”

 

Mike Hanlon had dozens of tiny vines of honeysuckle stretching all over and around his arms, winding across his dark skin all the way from his calloused hands to his biceps. The Hanlon farm was one of Eddie’s favorite places to go: an escape from his mother, where he could lay in an empty pasture with his kindest, best-at-listening friend and vent about his mother, or the new issue of Fantastic Four, or (more often than not) whatever ridiculous scheme Richie had dragged him into most recently. Sometimes, though, the two of them would just lay quietly in the tall grass, trying to count the tightly furled buds, or murmuring as they speculated when they would finally blossom.

 

It was laying in the pasture one day as the sun set, watching the yellow light shining through the oak trees and listening to the crickets hum, that Mike had been the first of the Losers to be told Eddie’s deepest, quietest secret. 

“Hey. Hey Mike?”

 

The homeschooled boy hummed in response from his place directly beside Eddie, hands folded behind his head.

 

“I’m queer.” He blurted out the words quickly, clenching his fists at his sides, terrified to look over and see Mike’s reaction.

 

He hadn’t planned on telling Mike today, necessarily, but he was the warmest and least intimidating of all of Eddie’s friends (and maybe there was some tiny, quiet part of him that hoped that even if Eddie disgusted Mike; if he was shocked and didn’t understand at all; then perhaps he would recognize the similarities in the hatred that African-Americans and non-straight people were treated with in Derry, and he might have some tiny bit of sympathy). 

 

Mike was perfectly still for a moment. Then, he spoke, in the same soft voice he always used with his friends. “Really?”

 

Eddie nodded, pressing his lips together tightly and squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Wow. Thank you for telling me, Ed.” 

 

Eddie felt some tiny, warm, pop in his chest, which quickly spread through his entire body, like air rushing out of a popped balloon as an overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. 

 

Mike turned then, and smiled, and Eddie smiled back, and they went back to laying there, gazing up as the sun-drenched sky gave way to dusk. 

 

That had been months ago. In the weeks since, he had slowly told each of his friends individually, unable to look at their faces when he breathed out the secret he had kept inside for so long. 

 

Each and every time, he felt shock at their loving acceptance of him, and then shame, that he would think that they wouldn’t. His friends weren’t like the rest of Derry, or the rest of the world, for that matter! But still, he had doubted them, some deeply buried voice that sounded a lot like his Ma’s, whispering that he was dirty, a freak, sick, and that he would never find anyone like him.

 

He had held off on telling Richie for last. They had been sitting out by the empty soccer fields, ripping up tufts of grass as they waited for Bill to get out of baseball practice. Richie, true to form, had been trying to make a blade of grass into one of those dumb whistles (unsuccessfully) for about 20 minutes. Eddie figured there was about a 50-50 chance that Rich was actually listening to his stressed monologuing about the calc test, or if he was completely zoning out and thinking about, like, boobs or weed or Pokemon or whatever Richie Tozier’s mind was usually populated with. 

 

It was when he watched Richie lift the blade of grass up to his face, scrunching up his crooked nose in that annoying cute and innocent way, as he peered through his (still ridiculously thick) glasses, that Eddie knew. He knew that he had to tell Richie. He had known when they were at the Barrens, and Richie had held both his hands, hard, and helped him jump over a giant puddle so he wouldn’t get his new socks wet. He had known when they were sitting on the Toziers trampoline late one summer night, just the two of them, and Richie had starting sniffling, then sobbing, as he told Eddie how terrified he was that everyone around him actually found him too annoying to be around. Heck, Eddie had known when they were eight, and Richie had leapt dramatically in front of him during dodgeball and gotten out instead. 

 

“I dunno why, Eds,” Richie had shrugged, unconcerned, to a nearly hysterical Eddie, pinching a wound-up bunch of 1-ply from the boys’ bathroom over his bleeding nose. “That’s just what best friends do.”

 

And it was true. Richie Tozier was the best friend Eddie Kaspbrak had ever known, and probably would ever had. He wasn’t quite sure if he believed in God, or fate, or whatever, but he did know for sure that something special had led to the two of them being born in the same town, in the same time. Richie was kind, and funny (even if the Losers were loathe to admit it), and goofy, and genuine, and so overwhelming in his Richie-ness that it was almost staggering sometimes. And somehow, Eddie had gotten to be this idiot’s best friend. Yet he still hadn’t told him his biggest secret.

 

Suddenly, Richie looked up from the grass he was ripping up, alarm in his magnified, owl-like eyes. “Eds? What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

 

Eddie sniffed, startled by the sudden tears. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

 

Richie frowned, his eyebrows furrowing into his ‘I don’t believe you’ face. “Eddie. C’mon.”

 

Eddie sniffed again, pulling out a small pack of Kleenex from his backpack. “Rich, I- I gotta tell you something.” 

 

Richie, in an act that was wholly un-Richie, went completely still. “Okay.”

 

Eddie, finishing wiping his nose, crumpled the tissue in his fist. He kept his eyes fixed on his hands, watching how his skin got whiter and his hand began to shake the tighter he squeezed. “Richie. I’m gay.”

 

Silence. 

 

After what felt like an eternity, Eddie Kaspbrak looked up. Richie was looking straight at him, eyes still wide. But now - shining with what looked like tears? 

 

“Oh my god, Richie, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, okay?” Eddie began frantically twisting the dampened tissue in his hands, wholly unsure of what to do with himself. Of all the millions of possible outcomes he had imagined, laying wide awake in his twin bed, this was probably the one he was least prepared for. “I, I swear it won’t change anything, ‘kay? I just. I can’t help it, and it felt so wrong not telling you, but-”

 

“Eds.” Richie croaked suddenly, a calloused hand suddenly over Eddie’s own, which he hadn’t even realized were in the process of systematically tearing the tissue into tinier and tinier pieces. “Stop.”

 

Eddie did. He gulped, suddenly very still. 

 

“Eddie,” Richie began again, looking down at the destroyed Kleenex, then back up at Eddie’s face (which he was pretty sure was completely white and ashy at this point). “Eddie. It’s… it’s okay.”

 

In an instant, Eddie’s heart was bursting out of his chest and his stomach had dropped to the grass below. He felt like he was floating, and falling, all at once. “Wait… Really?”

 

Richie smiled back at him. It was a soft smile, not full of teeth or smirking or with a huge laugh bubbling out from behind it, as Richie’s smiles were apt to be. But it was almost… fond? “Yeah, doofus. Really.”

 

Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest. “You’re sure.”

 

Richie grabbed both of Eddie’s (much smaller, how did he never notice how much smaller?) hands, and squeezed tightly. “Yes, you idiot. So you like dudes! That’s fine, Eds. Really. Thank you for telling me.”

 

All at once, Eddie felt warmth and light rushing into every fiber of his being. He was buoyed, finally, by the weight of the people he loved most in the world, all six of them. “Rich. Rich…” He threw his arms around the taller boy, who stiffened, almost imperceptibly, for just a second, before wrapping his long and bony limbs around in return. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

 

Richie squeezed tighter. “Nothing to thank me for, Spaghetti Man. Besides,” he let go, fixing his eyes back on his lap. “Uh, I. I think I like guys too, Eds. So. It’d be pretty hypocritical of me. I think, at least.”

 

Now it was Eddie’s turn for his eyes to be as wide as saucers. “Wait. What?”

 

Richie smiled back, sheepishly this time. “Yeah. Uh, I think I still like girls? I dunno. If you can like both, I mean. But. Yeah. Kissing guys, fuck yeah, right?”

 

Eddie snorted. “Sure, Rich. Fuck yeah, kissing guys.”

 

\-----

 

Things had been almost imperceptibly different between the two after that. Some weird, quiet, only somewhat unwelcome part of Eddie’s brain whispered that maybe, this is what he had wished for all along. That, somehow, Richie Tozier liking guys was some kind of miracle sent down specifically to make Eddie Kaspbrak’s little gay heart sing. 

 

But, as Eddie reminded himself every day, Richie liking guys just meant that he liked guys.  _ Not  _ that he liked Eddie specifically. At least, not necessarily. But it still wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility. Right???

 

When Richie’s flower appeared, a single prickly bud on a long green stem, just above his heart, something deep within Eddie twisted itself into knots. 

 

“It’s  _ helianthus annus! _ Or at least, I’m pretty sure. It’s a sunflower, guys!”

 

The beaming smile on Richie’s face was almost as bright as the bloom that’d one day appear on his pectoral. 

 

The Losers all congratulated him, but Richie didn’t bring it up again until one day at lunch, a couple months later. He was tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over again, while they all leaned against the track shack. His blue eyes were fixed on something far in the distance, and he had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the lunch period, til Eddie finally elbowed him. 

 

“Dude. What’s up? You’re being quiet.”

Richie pursed his lips, then held the apple for a second, looking at it thoughtfully. “Ya know, my mom says it’s rare to have a single flower, like mine. Did you know that?”

 

Eddie blinked. He wasn’t expecting soulmate talk, but sure, why not. “No, Rich. I didn’t.”

 

“Yeah,” Richie said, furrowing his eyebrows at a slight bruise on the apple before resuming his one-man game of catch. “I guess it like, means something. Or at least that’s what my grandma told her. Like, flower meanings or whatever.”

 

Eddie raised his eyebrows, eyes fixed on where the top of Richie’s prickly bud tattoo peeked out from his collar. “Oh? What’s yours mean, then?”

 

The corner of Richie’s mouth quirked up in a smile. He flicked his eyes to meet Eddie’s for split second, then looked back up at the sky. “Adoration. Also, like, loyalty, and happiness, and other stuff. But mostly adoration.”

 

For some reason, Eddie felt his cheeks suddenly blush a hot pink. “Oh.”

 

Richie chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his glasses. “Yeah. But, uh, the big thing is that there’s only one flower. Do ya know what my grandma says that means?”

 

Eddie frowned, tilting his head. “No, what?”

 

Richie coughed lightly. “Uh, I guess it means that, I only have one potential partner. Like, the first person I end up dating is probably like. It for me.”

 

Bev, who had been apparently overhearing their conversation, suddenly leaned over, beaming. “Rich! That’s so romantic! You must meet them pretty soon, then!”

 

“Or you’ve already met them,” Stan cut in, a weirdly knowing look on his face. Richie coughed strangely again, glaring at Stan, and Eddie instinctively reached for his hand sanitizer. The last thing he needed was getting sick in the middle of the school week. 

 

That was the last time the Losers talked about soulmates for a long while. Occasionally, the topic would come up in casual conversation, but Eddie always tried to steer the subject away pretty quickly when it did. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but whenever he thought about the single sunflower waiting on Richie’s pale, freckled chest, he got a weird tight feeling deep in his chest. Thinking about some gorgeous person waiting out in the unknown to swoop Richie off his feet and probably take him away forever made Eddie’s heart thump wildly, and his palms start to sweat, so he tried not to. Think about it, that is. 

  
  


It was only a couple months after Eddie revealed his twirling  _ Wisteria  _ to the other Losers that Stan made an announcement to the rest of the group before school, an uncharacteristically wistful look on his face. They were all standing at the bike racks and idly discussing plans to go see a move that weekend when Bev suddenly got a knowing gleam in her blue eye. 

 

“STANLEY MICHAEL URIS!” Stan jumped almost imperceptibly at Bev’s shout. He walked up to join the group, a rosy blush creeping across his olive cheeks as he adjusted his backpack straps.  

 

“What, Bev?”

 

“Don’t you  _ what  _ me! Where is it?” she demanded, grabbing him by the shoulders excitedly. “I can see it in your eyes, you sly dog. So show us the tattoo!”

 

Richie gasped dramatically, joining Bev with one stride to clasp Stan’s shoulder. “Stan! My man! Becoming a  _ man _ ! Bless my stars, I can scarcely believe it! They grow up so fast.” He sniffled and wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek. 

 

Stanley rolled his eyes and shoved Richie half-heartedly, but didn’t attempt to hold back the pure, delighted smile spreading across his face. “Step back, dumbasses, and maybe I’ll show you.”

 

The other Losers exploded in exclamations and congratulations as they crowded around the youngest member of the group, chattering excitedly. “Alright! Alright, I’ll show you. But we can’t do it here.” Mike and Ben shared a confused glance, but no one questioned Stan as he led them behind a bush near the baseball field. 

 

Methodically, and in typical Stanley Uris fashion, he carefully set down his backpack and lunch and began to unbutton his shirt. Richie audibly inhaled at this, but Beverly promptly smacked a hand over his mouth before he could comment. 

 

Finally, Stanley stood before them in only his white undershirt. Both long arms were exposed, and there was a collective gasp as the group saw the beautiful rosebuds adorning both of his deltoids. Long, thorny stems wound down each upper arm, and right where the smooth skin of his shoulder met his arm, a tightly furled bud. 

 

Ben’s mouth was slightly open in awe, as he reached out and gently touched the new additions. “But, Stan. There’s…” 

 

“Two, I know.” Stan’s cheeks were still a hot pink, and he glanced over his shoulder as he quickly pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up again. “I think that means I have… well. Two soulmates.”

“Stannyyyyyyy,” Richie crowed delightedly. “I always knew you were too much man for one person to handle.” At this, Stan blushed a shade of crimson previously unseen on any human face. 

 

Mike chuckled, but there seemed to be a hint of warmth in his cheeks too, after seeing Stan’s marks. “Lay off, Rich. But… seriously. Congrats, man. Whoever they are will be lucky to have you.” 

 

Eddie, who had been watching quietly, had a sneaking suspicion that Mike was wishing he were one of those someones.

 

\-----------------------

 

By the time the summer after sophomore year rolled around, Ben and Bev were practically joined at the hip, adorably and almost sickeningly infatuated with each other since the crepe-y magenta azaleas on Ben’s ankle and the daffodil on Bev’s spine had finally blossomed. 

 

Mike and Bill and Stan had been circling each other for ages now, all batting eyelashes and blushing and secretive conversations when they thought no one was looking. The rest of the Losers had an unspoken understanding that it was almost a matter of time until they finally got their acts together and finally became official. 

 

Meanwhile, Eddie tried not to think about his mark too much. Or Richie’s, for that matter. 

 

Richie had started dating girls the second he finally shot up and gained some semblance of muscle, no doubt thanks entirely to the weights that Wentworth Tozier kept in their garage. He was still a dweebus, full of (slightly less) crude jokes and loud, bracing laughter, but somehow that was attractive to at least 6 (7? 8? Eddie had lost count) of the girls at Derry High.

 

But, even with the new, objectively pretty girls that Rich would occasionally have around, the Losers somehow remained a unit. Bill and Eddie joined track, Bev and Richie became the drama department’s darlings, new friendships were formed and broken. But somehow, they all still remained locked in an orbit together. 

 

There was an unspoken bond, one forged in the fire of being outsiders, that cemented the seven as something deeper than friends and more treasured than family. Strengthened and maintained by casual intimacy, indelible trust, and the sacred Friday movie nights, each person knew that they had something special in their core group of friends. 

 

Eddie was a little bit in awe of them sometimes: their wit and success and athleticism and energy and compassion. He could scarcely believe that he was one of this wonderful group of ridiculous, talented people filled with so much potential. And, as the other losers began to slowly find romance and connections and soulmates, a deep sense of un-belonging seeped into his bones. An overwhelming feeling of other-ness, and sadness, and  _ loneliness,  _ even when surrounded by the people closest to him in this world. 

 

Especially when he was around Richie. Although, that feeling wasn’t quite in his bones. It was in his stomach, and his heart, and it  _ burned.  _ He knew why. Every time a grinning Richie walked up, hand in hand with his latest girlfriend, or casually exposed the sunflower on his chest when changing his shirt, Eddie felt it. First, the pang of jealousy. Then, the warmth of deep affection, and then, the hotter burn of want. 

 

Sometimes, laying in his bed, looking up at the pale blue ceiling his mother refused to let him paint, Eddie thought about what Richie’s grandma had said, years ago. About his mark. “ _ Adoration.”  _

 

He’d turn that word over and over in his head for hours, like one of the hard butterscotch candies his aunts gave him when he was little, that’d last for hours but was still as sweet at the end as at the beginning. He adored Richie. He knew that much for sure. With every dumb joke, and every suddenly introspective and quiet revelation, and every time Eddie caught his bright, blue-eyed gaze through his glasses from across the quad. He adored him! 

 

But did Richie adore him back? Eddie wasn’t sure. It depended on the kind of day he’d had at school, or what his mom said when he got home, or the random comment someone had made at track practice, or just how much Eddie despised Richie’s latest girlfriend. 

 

A thousand hair ruffles, and lagging behind the group when they walked somewhere so they could talk, just the two of them. Holding each other’s ice cream cones, and shared hysterics at the dumb comics they leaned over in each other’s bedrooms. The cheesy homemade cards they always exchanged on each other’s birthdays, and the truly horrific homemade cake Richie had tried to make for Eddie’s 16th. The quiet nights when Richie (“you idiot!”) would scale the tree outside Eddie’s window and clamber in to sit, or lay, or dream. 

 

Did those add up to adoration? Eddie really wasn’t sure. 

 

–––––––––––––––

 

One such night, when Richie was conked out on the rug in Eddie’s room, mouth slightly open and gangly limbs splayed, Eddie felt a particularly strong surge of his own adoration bloom somewhere deep inside. 

 

And on his collarbone, a single bloom of  _ Wisteria floribunda  _ shifted.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!!! i've literally been working on this for months so I hope y'all like it! (: 
> 
> pleasepleaseplease leave comments or kudos, i'd appreciate it sm
> 
> also, come find me/tell me ur thought/follow for updates on tunglr.hell at adhdtozier !


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